Rhys, no longer holding back, condensed the sea of blood into a relatively small net in an instant, positioning it before himself.
With a lift of his hand, the net shot toward Voldemort's massive black sphere.
Voldemort suddenly felt the previously steady flow of his magic become violently unstable. The divine relics fused with his body also reacted intensely.
This is bad!
His expression changed drastically. Such a severe disruption in his magic flow was devastating to his spell. Instinctively, he tried to retract the power of death back to himself to minimize his losses, but it was too late. The sphere formed by his domain had already collided with the net woven from Rhys's domain.
Voldemort's black sphere lasted less than a second before shattering.
"Tom, power that does not belong to you will eventually leave you," Rhys said calmly. He hadn't done anything just now—he had merely revealed the true nature of his magic.
He had long sensed a familiar fluctuation from Voldemort. Upon closer inspection, he realized that Voldemort had fused several remnants of his "old acquaintances."
So Rhys couldn't help but greet his "old friends." Apparently, his enthusiasm excited them greatly, instantly disrupting Voldemort's flow of magic.
By borrowing external power, Voldemort had climbed to a height that did not belong to him. Though he stood high and saw far, it was nothing more than a castle built on sand. When Rhys delivered a harsh kick to that foundation, Voldemort's castle began to collapse.
Even if those relics had not responded to Rhys, he had nothing to worry about. He could simply crush through with the sheer strength of his domain. When it came to the use of domains, Voldemort was far inferior.
Slash!
Voldemort barely managed to evade the attack of the domain net, but at the cost of one of his arms.
The arm caught within the domain net was instantly sliced into pieces the size of the mesh. Voldemort knew that if he had been even a few seconds slower, his entire body would have met the same fate.
Although he had lost an arm, Voldemort did not take the injury seriously. Even without the power of a domain, he could restore a missing limb with magic, let alone now that he possessed a domain.
It would only take an instant—just an instant—huh?
Voldemort stared in shock at the cross-section of his severed arm. He had just tried to draw upon his remaining domain power, but failed to regenerate it.
Taking a closer look, he noticed a layer of dark red blood covering the wound. Realization struck him at once: the opponent's domain was interfering with his limb regeneration.
Voldemort understood. Unless he removed the residual domain power at the wound, his arm would never grow back.
Rhys stood nearby, calmly watching Voldemort examine his injury.
"Tom, this is the power of a domain. By the way, I should correct one of your terms—it's 'domain,' not 'divine domain.' Though, considering your power comes from ancient beings, calling it a divine domain isn't entirely wrong…" Rhys's teaching habit kicked in, and he began rambling, giving Voldemort a thorough lesson.
Listening to what sounded like the droning of a mosquito, Voldemort's face flushed red.
He was furious—furious that the divine relics had failed him at a critical moment, furious at his own lack of strength, unable to tear this man before him into pieces!
Seeing that his "student" had no interest in listening, Rhys simply fell silent and walked straight toward Voldemort.
As Rhys approached, Voldemort was alarmed. He immediately gathered his remaining power of death together, but before he could launch an attack, the sea of blood surged forward, instantly scattering his domain. The moment that black sphere had been destroyed, Voldemort had already lost the qualification to fight Rhys.
Along with Voldemort's domain collapsing, the undead he had summoned also perished. Without his power sustaining them, they were quickly wiped out by the puppets.
Rhys stood before Voldemort, calmly staring at him. Voldemort wanted to fight back—he was not one to wait for death—but the hand holding his wand had already been cut to pieces.
"When you were sorted back then, what did the Sorting Hat say to you?" Rhys suddenly asked an unrelated question.
"What?" Voldemort was taken aback. The Sorting Ceremony felt like something from a very distant past, yet he still remembered that day clearly.
"The moment I touched the hat, it decided to put me in Slytherin. It said Slytherin would help me achieve greatness." He actually answered Rhys's question seriously.
Rhys: "…"
It seemed the Sorting Hat really needed an upgrade. It should stop sending strange individuals into his house!
After learning about Muggle universities, Rhys felt that the Sorting Hat had its flaws. A one hundred percent acceptance rate was inherently unreasonable.
Hogwarts seemed to accept every student with magical talent within Britain without exception. That was far too absurd. It led to all kinds of odd individuals being admitted, and it was often difficult to sort them properly.
Should there be some kind of selection process for incoming students? The thought surfaced in Rhys's mind, though he suspected Helga would strongly oppose it.
Perhaps there were other methods. For example, they could adopt a Muggle-style system, dividing Hogwarts into different levels—similar to middle school, high school, and university—and gradually filtering out unsuitable students along the way…
That might just pass Helga's approval.
Rhys withdrew his thoughts and began considering how to deal with Voldemort.
Killing him was not feasible for now, and it would also be a waste. But he couldn't just let him walk away freely either. Rhys could handle him easily, but others could not.
In just a few brief moments, Rhys weighed many options. In the end, the sea of blood surged upward, condensing into a spear that pierced straight through Voldemort's chest.
"Ah!" Voldemort let out a scream.
"Your strength is far too weak. You couldn't even make me use my full power. This is truly disappointing." Rhys's face showed clear boredom, as if the fierce battle just now had been nothing more than a trivial game to him.
A glint flashed in Voldemort's eyes. He had seized his chance.
At the very moment this mysterious powerhouse struck, that vast, boundless domain had contracted!
Now!
With a sharp crack, Voldemort forced himself to act and immediately Disapparated, fleeing with the blood spear still embedded in him.
Rhys made no move, simply watching as Voldemort escaped.
Only then did the Aurors, who had retreated to a distance, slowly approach. They felt as though their entire understanding of the world had just been shattered.
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12 Chaps ahead at Patreon.com/HornyFBI